Janet's Love and Service Part 4

"Na, la.s.s. He'll no' hae a man's sense this while yet. And as for his goin' or bidin', it's no' for you or me to seek for the why and the wherefore o' the matter. It might be better--more cheery--for you and us all if your elder brother were with us, but it wouldna be best for him to go, or your father would never leave him, you may be sure o'

that."

There was a long silence. Graeme sat gazing into the dying embers.

Janet threw on another peat, and a bright blaze sprang up again.

"Miss Graeme, my dear, if it's a wise and right thing for your father to take you all over the sea, the going or the biding o' your elder brother can make no real difference. You must seek to see the rights o' this.

If your father hasna him to help him with the bairns and--ither things, the more he'll need you, and you maun hae patience, and strive no' to disappoint him. You hae muckle to be thankful for--you that can write to ane anither like a printed book, to keep ane anither in mind.

There's nae fear o' your growin' out o' acquaintance, and he'll soon follow, you may be sure. Oh, la.s.sie, la.s.sie! if you could only ken!"

Graeme raised herself up, and leaned both her arms on Janet's lap.

"Janet, what did your mother say?"

Janet gulped something down, and said, huskily,--

"Oh! she said many a thing, but she made nae wark about it. I told your father I would go, and I will. My mother doesna object."

"And Sandy?" said Graeme, softly, for there was something working in Janet's face, which she did not like to see.

"Sandy will aye hae my mother, and she'll hae Sandy. But, la.s.sie, it winna bear speaking about to-night. Gang awa' to your bed."

Graeme rose; but did not go.

"But couldna Sandy go with us? It would only be one more. Surely, Janet--"

Janet made a movement of impatience, or entreaty, Graeme did not know which, but it stopped her.

"Na, na! Sandy couldna leave my mother, even if it would be wise for me to take him. There's no more to be said about that." And in spite of herself, Janet's tears gushed forth, as mortal eyes had never seen them gush before, since she was a herd la.s.sie on the hills. Graeme looked on, hushed and frightened, and in a little, Janet quieted herself and wiped her face with her ap.r.o.n.

"You see, dear, what with one thing and what with another, I'm weary, and vexed to-night, and no' just myself. Matters will look more hopeful, both to you and to me, the morn. There's one thing certain.

Both you and me hae much to do that maun be done, before we see saut water, without losing time in grumblin' at what canna be helped. What with the bairns' clothes and ither things, we winna need to be idle; so let us awa' to our beds that we may be up betimes the morn."

Graeme still lingered.

"Oh, Janet! if my mother were only here! How easy it all would be."

"Ay, la.s.s! I hae said that to myself many a time this while. But He that took her canna do wrong. There was some need for it, or she would hae been here to-night. You maun aye strive to fill her place to them all."

Graeme's tears flowed forth afresh.

"Oh, Janet! I think you're mocking me when you say that. How could _I_ ever fill her place?"

"No' by your ain strength and wisdom surely my lammie. But it would be limiting His grace to say He canna make you all you should be--all that she was, and that is saying muckle; for she was wise far by the common.

But now gang awa' to your bed, and dinna forget your good words.

There's no fear but you will be in G.o.d's keeping wherever you go."

Janet was right; they had need of all their strength and patience during the next two months. When Janet had confidence in herself, she did what was to be done with a will. But she had little skill in making purchases, and less experience, and Graeme was little better. Many things must be got, and money could not be spent lavishly, and there was no time to lose.

But, with the aid of Mrs Smith and other kind friends, their preparations were got through at last. Purchases were made, mending and making of garments were accomplished, and the labour of packing was got through, to their entire satisfaction.

The minister said good-bye to each of his people separately, either in the kirk, or in his own home or theirs; but he shrunk from last words, and from the sight of all the sorrowful faces that were sure to gather to see them go; so he went away at night, and stayed with a friend, a few miles on their way. But it was the fairest of summer mornings--the mist just lifting from the hills--and the sweet air filled with the laverock's song, when Janet and the bairns looked their last upon their home.

CHAPTER FIVE.

They found themselves on board the "Steadfast" at last. The day of sailing was bright and beautiful, a perfect day for the sea, or the land either; but the wind rose in the night and the rain came on, and a very dreary morning broke on them as the last glimpse of land was fading in the distance.

"Oh! how dismal!" murmured Graeme, as in utter discomfort she seated herself on the damp deck, with her little sister in her arms. All the rest, excepting her father, and not excepting Janet, were down with sea-sickness, and even Norman and Harry had lost heart under its depressing influence. Another hour in the close cabin, and Graeme felt she must yield too--and then what would become of Rose? So into a mist that was almost rain she came, as the day was breaking, and sat down with her little sister upon the deck. For a minute she closed her eyes on the dreariness around, and leaned her head on a hencoop at her side.

Rose had been fretful and uneasy all night, but now well pleased with the new sights around her, she sat still on her sister's lap. Soon the cheerful voice of the Captain, startled Graeme.

"Touch and go with you I see, Miss Elliott. I am afraid you will have to give in like the rest."

Graeme looked up with a smile that was sickly enough.

"Not if I can help it," said she.

"Well, you are a brave la.s.s to think of helping it with a face like that. Come and take a quick walk up and down the deck with me. It will do you good. Set down the bairn," for Graeme was rising with Rose in her arms. "No harm will come to her, and you don't look fit to carry yourself. Sit you there, my wee fairy, till we come back again. Here, Ruthven," he called to a young man who was walking up and down on the other side of the deck, "come and try your hand at baby tending. That may be among the work required of you in the backwoods of Canada, who knows?"

The young man came forward laughing, and Graeme submitted to be led away. The little lady left on the deck seemed very much inclined to resent the unceremonious disposal of so important a person, as she was always made to feel herself to be. But she took a look into the face of her new friend and thought better of it. His face was a good one, frank and kindly, and Rose suffered herself to be lifted up and placed upon his knee, and when Graeme came back again, after a brisk walk of fifteen minutes, she found the little one, usually so fretful and "ill to do with," laughing merrily in the stranger's arms. She would have taken her, but Rose was pleased to stay.

"You are the very first stranger that ever she was willing to go to,"

said she, gratefully. Looking up, she did not wonder at Rosie's fancy for the face that smiled down upon her.

"I ought to feel myself highly honoured," said he.

"I think we'll give him the benefit of little Missy's preference," said Captain Armstrong, who had been watching Graeme with a little amused anxiety since her walk was ended. The colour that the exercise had given her was fast fading from her face, till her very lips grew white with the deadly sickness that was coming over her.

"You had best go to the cabin a wee while. You must give up, I think,"

said he.

Graeme rose languidly.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Come Rosie."

"Leave the little one with me," said Mr Ruthven. And that was the last Graeme saw of Rosie for the next twelve hours, for she was not to escape the misery that had fallen so heavily upon the rest, and very wearily the day pa.s.sed. It pa.s.sed, however, at last, and the next, which was calm and bright as heart could wish, saw them all on deck again. They came with dizzy heads and uncertain steps it is true, but the sea air soon brought colour to their cheeks, and strength to their limbs, and their sea life fairly began.

But alas! for Janet. The third day, and the tenth found her still in her berth, altogether unable to stand up against the power that held her. In vain she struggled against it. The "Steadfast's" slightest motion was sufficient to overpower her quite, till at last she made no effort to rise, but lay there, disgusted with herself and all the world.

On the calmest and fairest days they would prevail on her to be helped up to the deck, and there amid shawls and pillows she would sit, enduring one degree less of misery than she did in the close cabin below.

"It was just a judgment upon her," she said, "to let her see what a poor conceited body she was. She, that had been making muckle o' herself, as though the Lord couldna take care o' the bairns without her help."

It was not sufficient to be told hourly that the children were well and happy, or to see it with her own eyes. This aggravated her trouble.

"Useless body that I am." And Janet did not wait for a sight of a strange land, to begin to pine for the land she had left, and what with sea-sickness and home-sickness together, she had very little hope that she would ever see land of any kind again.

The lads and Marian enjoyed six weeks of perfect happiness. Graeme and their father at first were in constant fear of their getting into danger. It would only have provoked disobedience had all sorts of climbing been forbidden, for the temptation to try to outdo each other in their imitation of the sailors, was quite irresistible; and not a rope in the rigging, nor a corner in the ship, but they were familiar with before the first few days were over. "And, indeed, they were wonderfully preserved, the foolish lads," their father acknowledged, and grew content about them at last.

Before me lies the journal of the voyage, faithfully kept in a big book given by Arthur for the purpose. A full and complete history of the six weeks might be written from it, but I forbear. Norman or Harry, in language obscurely nautical, notes daily the longitude or the lat.i.tude, and the knots they make an hour. There are notices of whales, seen in the distance, and of shoals of porpoises seen near at hand. There are stories given which they have heard in the forecastle, and hints of practical jokes and tricks played on one another. The history of each sailor in the ship is given, from "handsome Frank, the first Yankee, and the best-singer" the boys ever saw, to Father Abraham, the Dutchman, "with short legs and shorter temper."